Black Irish

by Tricia Andersen

  Aubrey had assured her it would be fine working from Iowa. Then she handed Abbey an envelope that was tucked under her desk blotter. Abbey opened it and looked inside. The advance on royalties for the four books Sloan had promised Aubrey had been released. Inside was a check for two million dollars.

  Tears had spilled down Abbey’s cheeks. Two million. She could take care of her baby with no worries. She could pay off her mother’s house. She could start over.

  Her tears had turned into hiccupping sobs. Aubrey had crossed around her desk and wrapped her arms tight around Abbey, hugging her close and laying Abbey’s head on her shoulder. It had taken a while for Abbey to get under control. Finally, with a hug and a promise to send an email when she returned to Iowa, Abbey had said her goodbyes.

  Picking up her purse, Abbey took one last look at her airplane ticket. She dropped both when a loud rap startled her. Crossing the empty room, she peered through the peep hole. With an exasperated sigh, she freed the locks and wrenched open the door.

  “You’re back,” Abbey greeted flatly.

  Robert leaned against the doorframe with both hands braced against it. “Yep.”

  “I assume your boss is back also.”

  “He’s on his way back, yes.”

  “And you’re here why?”

  Robert looked beyond her at the pile of boxes. “To escort you to the airport.”

  A laugh escaped her throat. “Doesn’t even want me in the same city as him. Don’t bother. I can call a cab.”

  “I insist I take you.”

  “Well then, you’ll have to wait. I’m waiting for UPS to get these boxes.”

  “Bartholomew will wait for UPS for you.”

  Abbey walked back to her purse and bent to pick it up. “That’s fine. Saves me from trying to hail a cab in this neighborhood.”

  She took one last look at the dingy little hole in the wall she called home. This is one place I’m not going to miss. She stormed past Robert into the hall and headed toward the stairwell.

  In her blind fury, Abbey didn’t even acknowledge Gordon as he opened the door to the Hummer. She suddenly felt guilty—Gordon had always been good to her. He didn’t deserve to be treated this way. Abbey hugged her purse in her lap as they pulled away from the curb and maneuvered through the bumper to bumper, New York City traffic. The ride was silent aside from blaring horns and other assorted sounds of the city.

  Abbey sighed as they approached La Guardia. It was over. Sloan had sent his posse to dispose of her, to the point of putting her on the airplane. She shook her head in disbelief as the vehicle diverted from the main entrance into the airport to a remote airstrip. A small luxury plane waited for them outside a private hanger. Abbey looked at Robert. He met her eyes with an even, unemotional stare.

  Abbey slung her purse over her shoulder as the car pulled to a stop a few feet away from the staircase to the airplane. She slid across the backseat, through the open door, and quietly followed Robert into the cabin with Gordon following close behind. She plopped into the offered plush seat. Even the opulence of the flat panel televisions, wet bar, and leather seats couldn’t pull her out of her funk.

  Staring out into the night sky, she was barely able to make out the pale gray runway as the plane slowly coasted toward takeoff. She lost track of time as they plane lifted off.

  “He can’t even trust I’ll get on the airplane,” Abbey muttered to herself.

  “What was that?” Robert demanded.

  She sat straight in her seat and glared at him. “I said, he doesn’t even trust me to get on the airplane by myself. He sent you to make sure I go home.”

  “I have never met someone as stupid as you,” Robert growled.

  “Robert,” Gordon warned.

  “No. I’m tired of this bullshit.”

  Abbey fought back sudden tears. “I’m not stupid.”

  “Yes, you are. Do you know how you were freed? Hmmm?”

  “The U.S. Embassy—”

  “Screw the U.S. Embassy. Try Sloan.”

  “Sloan?”

  “Yes. Your husband used the GPS signal on your phone to track you. He waltzed his ass up to the building Brown was keeping you and surrendered himself without any of us knowing he left the house. With the stipulation that he release you and send you home. Knowing that Brown would turn him over to the authorities so they could prosecute him as a murderer. And the sentence already decided for him was death. Not prison. Death. The end of his life in a hellish way…hanging, electrocution, firing squad…take your pick. On a case that he was bound to lose. Why the hell would he do that?”

  Tears slipped down Abbey’s cheek as she stared at him in silence. Robert continued, “He did it because he loves you to the point of giving his own life. Your life trumps his.”

  “Until he found out I’m pregnant,” she breathed past her sobs.

  Robert threw his hands up in exasperation. “I can do no more. Let Sloan convince you. I cannot.”

  Abbey spun herself back to the window. They would be passing over Chicago soon. She was almost home. At least she could enjoy the lights of the city as they passed over.

  Her heart slammed in her chest. There are no city lights. There was nothing but dark. In the faint moonlight, she could barely make out the abyss beneath them. It was water.

  She flew around in her seat. “Where are we? Where are we going?” she asked terrified.

  Robert stared at her. He tossed his hand flippantly toward the rear of the plane. “There’s a package for you in the sleeping quarters. Go put it on.”

  Slowly, Abbey rose. Without another word, she walked to the sleeping quarters and closed the door.

  »»•««

  Abbey was in paradise. St. Thomas in the U.S. Virgin Islands, to be specific. Yet, she never noticed.

  Abbey never noticed the airstrip that the plane landed on nestled between pristine, perfect beaches illumined silver in the moonlight and bordered by towering palm trees. She never noticed her reflection in the mirror above the wet bar as she left the plane, her body swaddled in an ankle-length, spaghetti strap black evening gown with her hair held up by the ebony comb that happened to be in the box with the dress.

  Abbey never noticed the stretch limo waiting for her at the bottom of the airplane stairs. She never noticed the exterior of the beach house—make that beach mansion—isolated from any other residence on the island. She never noticed the polished, honey oak floors that flowed from the foyer to the rest of the expansive building.

  All Abbey noticed was the intimate dinner set on the deck bathed in the glow of candlelight, the waves of the ocean playing an accompanying symphony. She also noticed the man standing beside the table waiting for her, dressed in his customary black Armani suit that contrasted his ice blue eyes.

  Sloan smiled as she stopped at the wall of glass windows that opened to the deck. “You’re beautiful, Abigail.”

  “Thank you,” she murmured.

  He pulled her chair free and motioned for her to sit. Sitting across the table from her, he began to eat. Motionless, she stared down at her salad greens. Then, she heard Sloan’s fork stop also.

  “Is the food all right, Abigail? You haven’t touched a thing.”

  She kept her gaze locked to her plate. “It’s wonderful, thank you. I’m just not hungry.”

  “Maybe a stroll then? I had something I needed to speak to you about anyway.”

  Abbey closed her eyes and sighed. This is it. She accepted Sloan’s hand and wrapped her arm around his as he escorted her to the warm sands of the beach.

  They walked in silence for several minutes, engrossed in the sound of the waves. Then, Abbey heard Sloan clear his throat and begin. “I was hoping to discuss the arrangement we made. Our marriage.”

  She stared silently across the ocean as her eyes burned with tears.

  He continued, “When we married, we agreed to a temporary situation until I could get my immigration issue remedied. Our relationship progressed into something
deeper, something—”

  Abbey pulled free and faced Sloan. “Stop, please.”

  Sloan opened his mouth to speak, but stopped when she raised her hand to silence him.

  “I won’t ask for child support. I’m not interested in your money. You don’t need to worry. I’m going home to Iowa, and my mother will help with the baby. You don’t need to be involved. I won’t bother—”

  Her words were cut off by Sloan’s lips as he pulled her to him in a devouring embrace. She didn’t want to give in, but she sank into his kiss, surrendering to him. As the kiss broke, she laid her head on his shoulder. She felt his mouth brush against her ear.

  “I want to keep you,” he whispered.

  A sob erupted from her throat. She looked down as she felt something brush her arm. Resting in his hand was a blue jewelry box, the largest diamond she had ever seen nestled inside.

  As Abbey stared at the ring, she registered the words he had just spoken, nearly the same ones that had escaped her lips as she lay naked beside him the morning after he returned from his trip. He was awake. He heard me.

  She looked past the ring to Sloan, now kneeling in the sand at her feet. “I want to keep you. I want to keep our baby. Both of you, forever. Not for a visa. I love you with everything I am. I want to stay your husband. Please stay my wife.”

  Her sobs turned to uncontrollable hiccups. She collapsed beside him. He cradled her in his arms, rocking her gently and softly comforting her. After several moments, she calmed down.

  They sat in silence for a while longer. Then, Sloan cleared his throat. “At the risk of starting your tears again, you haven’t answered my question.”

  Abbey gathered the box from the sand and stared at the diamond. She cupped the top lid in her fingers and slowing snapped the box shut, but only after retrieving the ring from inside. She handed them to him then extended her left hand, waiting excitedly through her swollen, tear-filled eyes.

  Smiling, Sloan slid the ring against the gold wedding band already on her finger. Abbey raised her hand to admire her new gift. Then, Sloan gathered her into his embrace and chuckled.

  “Our food is getting cold. Shall we head back to the house and finish our supper?”

  Abbey nodded fervently and accepted Sloan’s help to stand. They wrapped their arms around each other as they made their way back to the beach house, laughing the entire way.

  »»•««

  Abbey slipped down the staircase of the beach house, pulling the downy, white comforter closer to her naked body. She smiled. It was all she could do. She was still sleepy, her muscles ached, and all she wanted was coffee. But she sighed dreamily as her mind drifted to the scene she had left behind—her husband fast asleep, his arm stretched across the bed to where he once held her. The cotton sheet barely covering his sculpted back and butt.

  They had made love all night. They had talked all night. They had made plans for their “real wedding.” Sloan demanded no less than royalty. Abbey was finally able to get him to concede to a ceremony right there at the beach house with their closest family and friends.

  Abbey took pictures of her new ring and texted them to Mary and Maggie. She messaged a few of her friends, including Aubrey, Gordon, Robert, and Bartholomew, who had just landed in St. Thomas after waiting for UPS to pick up her things.

  Then, like all excited new brides, she posted them on Facebook. The congratulations started rolling in instantly.

  Abbey told Sloan about her trip home to New York and her preparations to leave. She told him of her meeting with Aubrey and the two million dollar check.

  Sloan told Abbey of his escape from Ireland, of another midnight ride to Dublin. He told her of his flight from Dublin in a cargo plane to Amsterdam. He told her of his negotiations with the U.S. Embassy. They had refused to budge on granting him entrance back to the United States. Finally, they had made him an offer.

  They wanted the name of a known Al Qaeda terrorist, who had been in contact with Sloan, attempting to recruit him for his infamous bomb-making skills. The man had run in the same social circles as Sloan and, once learning who he was, had tried incessantly to get him to join some terrorist organization, but never told Sloan who. Sloan rebuffed him every time. The man had been so insistent, he gave Sloan every piece of contact information he had.

  Sloan turned it all over to the U.S. Embassy. They had left him to wait for their decision. Finally, they had summoned Sloan again after they apprehended his recruiter. They not only offered him access into the United States, they offered to start the steps toward his citizenship.

  Sloan flew back to the States a free man. He stopped briefly in New York City to buy the ring and a few other things before flying to Iowa to find Abbey. He didn’t find her, but he did find her mother, furious at him for abandoning her daughter. Even so, he had been happy to find her mother—there were things he needed to discuss with Mary.

  Abbey had quizzed him about the visit. He told her that his father had raised him to ask for the hand of the woman he loved. Since her Da was not around to have the discussion with, he had it with her mother.

  Mary was elated when Sloan asked for Abbey as his wife. She emphatically gave her permission and demanded to know Abbey’s answer the minute he asked.

  Sloan told Abbey of his time in Mount Vernon, how he fell in love with the tiny town. He had already put a deposit on an empty storefront in the downtown area to open his own art gallery. It would be a perfect fit. He also put a deposit on a large, Victorian home half a block from Mary’s house, one she knew well and had always loved.

  Then the talking had stopped and the lovemaking had begun once again.

  Abbey wandered to the kitchen, following the beautiful scent of coffee that drifted throughout the beach house. She found the coffee maker sitting in the middle of the granite-covered island, programmed to automatically brew. Two mugs sat beside it. Eagerly grabbing one, she filled it before sweeping to the refrigerator to pour in creamer.

  Abbey took a sip. Something’s not right. She began opening cupboards to look for the bag the beans had come from. After the fourth or fifth door, she found it, her favorite brew from the café in Greenwich Village. He had stopped in New York just to buy her favorite coffee. Another lovesick sigh escaped her lips.

  It stopped as she found the offending word. Decaf. She nearly spit it out. Then, she noticed the bottle of pre-natal vitamins sitting next to the bag. If she could possibly love Sloan more, she did at that very moment, as his concern for her and their unborn child was evident. Still, we’re going to have to have a serious talk about my caffeine consumption.

  She breezed from the kitchen to take a tour of his beach house. It couldn’t be a rental. All of the furnishings clearly belonged to Sloan. Her journey ended in his study. If his intentions weren’t clear before, they were now. And she had been so wrong.

  Towered on his expansive, leather and brass-lined, oak desk was about every parenting book imaginable. Scattered on the chairs and sofa were baby items—clothes, hand-made toys, blankets, and more. Sloan hadn’t known she was pregnant for very long. He must have been constantly baby shopping.

  Leaning against the frame of the French doors that led to the deck, Abbey stared out at the ocean. The ocean. She was here, watching waves crash on the shore. In all the time she lived in New York City, she never saw the ocean, at least not long enough to notice. Once, she had told Sloan how badly she wanted to see it. Not only had he fulfilled her desire, he “proposed” to her next to it.

  Abbey didn’t notice the body that joined her until she felt the hard, naked contours of it spooned close. She trembled as a pair of warm lips grazed her neck.

  “Good morning, husband.”

  “Good morning, wife.”

  Sloan wrapped his arms around Abbey and held her tight. She cuddled close to him. My life couldn’t be more perfect.

  “So, Tom Morrison, huh?”

  “Aye. If you wish I will change back to my birth name.

  “Wouldn’
t that put you in more danger?”

  “Luv, I would do whatever you want to make you happy.”

  She turned back to him and pressed a kiss to his lips. “I agree with Gordon. Tom Morrison died a long time ago. I am Mrs. Sloan O’Riley. Let’s do whatever it takes to keep him in the grave and keep Sloan O’Riley alive.”

  “I couldn’t agree more.”

  “Thank you,” Abbey murmured.

  “For what?”

  “Bringing me here. This is beautiful. It’s really too bad I don’t have my suit.”

  Sloan released her and crossed his office. He reached inside a shopping bag that sat in the corner of the sofa. He turned, a turquoise green bikini suspended from his finger. Abbey laughed. Of course, he thought of everything.

  Returning to her, he held her in his arms once again. He nestled his mouth against her ear and breathed, “I will spend the rest of my life making all your dreams come true.”

  She touched his face with her fingertips. “You already have. You’re here with me. You are my dreams come true.”

  Sloan softly kissed her. It was true. The crystal blue water and the warm, white sand behind Abbey wasn’t paradise. This man, with his strong, secure arms and warm, loving heart was. She had a deep feeling that the adventure in her life was far from over. But for now she could never be happier.

  About the Author

  Tricia Andersen lives in Iowa with her husband, Brian, and her children, her sons, Jake and Jon, and her daughter, Ali. She graduated from the University of Iowa with a Bachelor of Arts in English and from Kirkwood Community College with an Associate of Arts degree in Communications Media/Public Relations. When she’s not writing (which she loves to do), Tricia practices mixed martial arts, coaches and participates in track and field, reads, and is involved in many of her children's activities.

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